And when he was done he stood back, staring in awe at the monumental thing he had done. Here, captured in chiseled squiggles, was the entire epic story of a great people—the definitive history of the Aghar of Krynn, immortalized for all time. Somehow, Scrib felt that a great destiny had been fulfilled and he had been its instrument. He was awed and humbled at the enormity of his accomplishment.
“Aghar forever now,” he breathed. “Forever Aghar.”
* * * * *
That was on a Tuesday afternoon, by Tall reckoning. The following morning, a Wednesday, Captain Gratt Bolen led a work party out of Tarmish to secure and repair the peripheries of the stronghold. The first thing he noticed was a weird, grotesque little monolith standing in the parade ground. It looked as though someone had collected every shard and fragment of broken stone in the area into a tall, ungainly pile, then plastered over the whole thing with mud. And every inch of the dried mud was covered with scratches, gouges and chisel marks.
Gratt Bolen walked entirely around the thing, shaking his head and growling. Even to his coarse sensibilities, the odd, ugly little monument was an eyesore.
“Get some men to clean up this mess,” he ordered. “This is a parade ground, not a garbage dump.”
Thus was the grand history of the combined clans of Bulp lost forever. But by that time the Aghar of Bulp were some distance away, moving generally westward. They didn’t know where they were going, nor did it matter. They were simply moving.
The new Highbulp, Bron the First, had decided it was time to vacate the premises when a horde of Talls armed with scoops, pails and brooms invaded the catacombs.
Cringing in the shadows, the gully dwarves watched for a time as the Talls went to work, tidying up the entire area for human use.
“This place not fit to live in anymore,” Bron decided. “This place all infested with Talls. This place not This Place anymore. Time to move.”
The Lady Pert nodded in agreement and gazed at her husband with approving eyes. Bron was sounding and acting more like a true Highbulp every day. He even walked with an arrogant swagger sometimes, when he thought about it. Given time, the consort decided happily, her husband could turn into a real twit.
Bron had no idea where the new This Place would be, but he felt he would recognize it when he saw it. After all, there had always been a This Place. Therefore, there always would be a This Place.
This Place was wherever the Highbulp said This Place was. And wherever This Place was, there the gully dwarves would be—bumptious and innocent, grotesque and oddly appealing, operating on simple inertia and inadvertence, as changeless as any elemental force could be on the world of Krynn.
About the Author
With more than thirty novels published, Dan Parkinson has had best-sellers in several genres, including westerns, high-seas adventures, and science fiction. To Wizards of the Coast readers he is well known as the author of the DRAGONLANCE® novel The Gates of Thorbardin and the Dwarven Nations trilogy. Dan’s stories of gully dwarves can also be found in the best-selling Tales series, of which this book is an informal continuation.
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